


So It Was

by GoodJanet



Category: Late Night Host RPF
Genre: 2016 US Presidential Election, Angst, Come Eating, Declarations Of Love, Hand Jobs, Hurt/Comfort, Kissing, M/M, Promises
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-21
Updated: 2016-09-21
Packaged: 2018-08-16 14:42:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 975
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8106286
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GoodJanet/pseuds/GoodJanet
Summary: They'd always thought that nothing could be worse than the Bush years, but they were wrong. Jon and Stephen comfort each other on election night 2016.





	

**Author's Note:**

> **An Anon I received last night said it best:** Writing angsty Stewbert fics: How can I traumatize this 53 year old man without making him too OOC...?"

“Shhh, shhh, it’s gonna be alright,” Stephen murmurs.

Jon’s head comes to rest on his shoulder as he moans in an awful combination of misery and pleasure. Both his hands have bunches of Stephen’s suit clenched tightly within while Stephen spoke gently to him, hand moving rapidly inside Jon’s shorts.

“ _Stephen_ ,” Jon laments.

And it could be for any number of reasons, but Stephen knows it’s because of who just won the 2016 election. Jon had been his special senior election news correspondent—for old time’s sake—and then the unthinkable. Meeting Jon in a half-dark abandoned office reminds Stephen of 2000 and 2004. They had both thought it had been the end of the world back then. But they were wrong. They were so very wrong, and they didn’t even know it until now.

“You close?” Stephen whispers.

His whole staff is still in the studio getting angry, yelling, crying, making phone calls. There’s no need to whisper, really, but Stephen knows that anything louder would be enough to make both of them fly apart at the seams. He strokes his free hand up and down Jon’s back.

“I—I don’t know if I even _can_ ,” Jon laughs, sounding almost hysterical.

Stephen lets his thumb run around the head of Jon’s cock in a pattern he had been using since he was old enough to use on himself. Jon shudders, and Stephen gives a half-grin.

“Is there anything I can do?”

Jon looks up. He’s biting his lip, tearing at bits of skin. He draws blood, but he doesn’t even seem to notice or care.

“Hey, hey, careful, Jon.”

“What’s the— _mmmphhh_ —point? Wh-what does it even matter now?”

Stephen doesn’t know what to say, so he kisses Jon instead. It’s been years since they had kissed like this, but Stephen slips back into as though it had been merely hours ago instead of a decade ago. Jon opens his mouth without any prompting, so Stephen dives right in. He wonders how many years would separate him from the next time he got to kiss and touch Jon. He hopes next time is at least under better circumstances.

“Whatever happens,” Stephen pants, looking Jon right in the eye. “You will always be my friend, and I will always love you very much.”

“Oh, Jesus Christ,” Jon whines.

And finally Stephen feels Jon jerk in his fist. Even Stephen is relieved. He doesn’t even care that they’ve made a mess of themselves. The whole nation was about to be throw into a great many messes, to put it mildly. Jon goes limp against him, and Stephen holds him with one hand while he holds the other awkwardly out to the side to avoid staining their suits. Jon stands on shaky legs after a long moment composing himself. There are tears on his lashes, Stephen notes.

“Fuck, I don’t even know what—”

He stops himself short and shakes his head, runs his hands through his hair in a familiar nervous gesture. He looks off into the opposite corner of the room, away from Stephen, and Stephen wonders where his mind has gone. It makes him feel very alone, even though Jon was close enough to touch…or jerk off, as the case may be. Finally, Jon fixes his pants and abruptly turns back.

“So it’s only fair that I blow you now,” Jon says.

It’s said in the tone of a Jon Stewart joke, and it’s said almost as deadpan, but Stephen knows he’s only doing it because it’s his default. Stephen gets it. Stephen has “Stephen.”

“No can do, Jon. You know how our new overlord feels about the gays and their agenda.”

Jon snorts in spite of himself, and Stephen plays along by arching an eyebrow even as he feels his stomach repeatedly drop through the floor as he tries and fails to forget what the final numbers were. He wonders if the recount has started yet. Maybe they'do have President Clinton after all...

“Better hide the evidence,” Jon says pointedly.

“Fair point.”

Stephen smirks when he gets a disgusting, stupid, reckless, awful idea. He brings his hand to his mouth and, despite the bitterness and foul flavor, cleans his hand with his tongue in three long, flat strokes with his eyes and lashes downcast. When he looks back up at Jon when he’s finished, Jon’s staring at him with fire in his crystal clear blue eyes.

“First of all, i-if you’re trying to kill me, thank you. You’ve succeeded. I don’t even know what—Like, I would let you stick in my ass, at this point, Stephen.”

And who knew it would take the end of democracy as they knew it to discover that Jon Stewart had a possessive kink?

“How about a raincheck?” Stephen says, laughing once. He leans against the desk. “I’m limp as a jump rope, and I don’t think I could get hard, even if there was a gun to my head.”

The smoldering look leaves Jon’s eyes, and the haggard look returns. Fantasy time was over.

“Don’t—don’t talk like that, Stephen. Really, I don’t even want to _think_ —”

“ _Jon_.”

Jon pauses for a moment, and then continues. He takes Stephen by the hands, squeezes them.

“Because I love you too, you know.”

Stephen pulls Jon in for another kiss, a different kiss. This kiss was a promise. Jon keens into it, and Stephen feels himself melting into the safety of Jon’s embrace. He ignores the thought at the back of his head telling him that this was goodbye. Because it wasn’t. It _wasn’t._ And even though Stephen wants to scream and cry and be bitter along with the rest of the country, he decides that he’s going to pretend for one more night that everything is going to be okay. Because Jon was here. So it was.


End file.
